When my first child was born I learned that there is no greater or more political decision than the naming of a child in Africa.

Romantically I had chosen the sweet sounding names that had pleased me through the years. I was quickly rebuked by my mother who was scandalized by my ignorance of naming traditions. As a city-bred African I was blind to the naming lines between sub-groupings within our own ethnic group and the clans within this.  Rules that may seem trivial on the surface but which allowed the community to ensure that people who are closely related to each other do not marry and have children and preserve the oral traditions handed down pure lines.

I had also I ignored the patriarchal requirements of naming; in fact, as the mother of this very important first born son of a first born son I had no real business discussing the name of my child! Deferring to my mother in law in I was handed suitable names for my son. That identity lasted just one month at which point my father-in-law died and the full force of the clan came into play pushing aside even mother-in-law.

As we went through funeral rights a group of village elders seated on stools in the evening shadows held a full fledged meeting to deliberate the name. They called for the baby to be brought to them. Eventually my son was named for his deceased grandfather and for his time of birth. I had never met these old men before nor have I seen them since. But as a family we were called to trust their judgement, honed by decades of providing this same service – probably hundreds of times each year.

Like myself, many urban Africans – through no fault of their own - have no idea about the origins of their names due to the dislocation from the environments in which such knowledge is preserved. 

It is my hope that this site will serve as a repository for such knowledge.

Kasiala
Publisher